Patrick

The water was still and the humid air laid heavily on her skin while she sat on a thin cotton cushion set on the wooden pagoda. Her back was erect and her legs crossed underneath her, with her arms hanging limp on her sides. Against the backdrop of a purple and orange evening sky, her silhouette was that of a celestial being in a desolate paradise: calm, unreal, and untouchable, with no sufficient reason to move from her statuesque position. No breeze disrupted the tranquil water nor the womans flowing dark hair, all was quiet, even the leaves on the trees surrounding the lake seemed to be under the spell of slumber commanded by her halcyonic demeanor. She was oblivious to all thats around her, detached even from the breathtaking sunset to her left. It seemed impossible for her to cry anymore for him that she lost. The rage, pain, and guilt that she felt over his death no longer threw her in visible despair, yet it still pierces her soul unfailingly years after, whenever she is reminded. It could not have been her fault as she was an innocent child herself who’s only intention was to love her brother during the last moments of his short life. But the fact does not change: if it was not for her stubborn insistence, brought on by undisciplined love, he would not have been placed in a situation that caused his demise. As a child she could not comprehend death, why it occurs, and her role in ones passing but she knew very well the pain that it caused: it took something out of her once whole soul. Over thirteen years had passed but she still has not found that piece that was taken from her, nor she thinks she will ever find it again. Something of hers died and was buried along with him. She sincerely believed that she cannot cry anymore, but she failed to realize that evening that it was not a woman who sat there under the pagoda but a distraught and guilt ridden 8 year old girl who knew that she will live her life knowing that she killed her brother.